


Vespers

by merrythoughts



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Naked Fluff, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Romance I guess, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts
Summary: Each scar tells a story and they often revisit them.





	Vespers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obfuscatedheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obfuscatedheart/gifts).



> Another [Hannibal Holiday Exchange](https://hannibalholiday.tumblr.com/) piece. I signed up as pinch hitter, so this is why it's later BUT, it is for: [Leonie](http://whispersthroughthechrysalis.tumblr.com)! I'm sorry you couldn't get this on the 25th, but please enjoy it and stay warm and I hope your holidays were swell! ♥ (Sorry it didn't even turn out to be legit smut-smut and I'm sorry it feels so choppy at certain points?? bah)
> 
> ALSO, this is a shout-out to my favorite trashpilesoulmate, [Krysta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dapperscript/pseuds/Dapperscript): TY FOR GIVING ME SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL HANNIBAL THAT INSPIRED ME TO ATTEMPT TO WRITE HIM AND ENJOY WRITING HIM. I would have never ever tried to write Hannibal if I hadn't written hundreds of thousands of words with you.

The wind is howling, the snow coming down heavily and blanketing the outside world. Inside, their fire roars, a healthy crackle as logs get eaten up by dancing flames. Hannibal can feel the warmth emanating from the fireplace against his bare skin, bathing him in flickering shadows-- but it's nothing in comparison to the scorching heat of Will's mouth and tongue. Will is on his knees, a faux fur rug underneath him (as he would not have tolerated real fur, Hannibal knows this). Will's hands comfortably rest on Hannibal's hips. By now, they are both very accustomed with touching each other. It's no longer a delicate issue. Hannibal no longer has to take such careful steps around Will.

He's won Will over. With patience and time. With love and determination. It hadn't been easy, no. It hadn't been enjoyable, but Will Graham had been a worthy conquest. It had taken mere minutes for their bodies to sustain injuries that would take months to heal, but the wounds on the inside had festered and ached for years.

Locked away like a monster from a fairytale, Hannibal had had time to tend to his own wounds. He'd mused on how this wonderful, cunning boy had managed to break down his walls with stubborn will and artful deception.

Sentiment. Compassion. Love. (Despite the names slung at him by the tabloids, he's still only human.)

Will had single handedly made the prospect of freedom sour on his tongue, for a life free and _without_ Will Graham had been rejected. No other could boast of such a feat. Will Graham, like it or not, had captured the Chesapeake Ripper. Well, more specifically, his heart. (Monster’s still have hearts.)

It had taken months of Will being distant and closed off before Hannibal had decided to approach him in search of more genuine conversation. Since that stormy evening, their dynamic had steadily changed. Strange how one decision made on a not so special evening could usher in growth and change, but it had. And now they’re here.

Will's hands slide down Hannibal's hips as he ducks and kisses down a thigh and then kneecap. That Will is equally naked and on his knees is as humbling as ever. Intimacy without a blade, affection without the inciting incident of shared violence… Hannibal believes himself to be a very fortunate man. If he believed in a God, he may even have given thanks daily.

Instead, they worship each other.

Will's mouth descends further and Hannibal knows where Will is traveling to: to the ragged and poorly healed scar that runs down the back of his calf courtesy of a meat hook in the hands of one Jack Crawford.

Each scar tells a story and they often revisit them.

Will's mouth presses a kiss to the top of the raised scar tissue. Of course the sensation is dulled, but it's less about what he's feeling and more about what Will is giving him.

"What does this one say?” Will asks, tone rough, but reverent.

Hannibal lets his closest hand seek Will's hair, long fingers brushing through the soft strands as he strokes.

"It says I was supremely reckless without you," Hannibal answers quietly.

"It does, doesn't it?" Will agrees and he kisses down the scar, mouth brushing to first make contact, lift off, and then repeat the motion until he's at the end and Hannibal's hand can no longer reach Will's hair.

There is nothing overly explicit about this, and yet the intimacy is staggering. Both naked, both with their scars bared to each other, Hannibal would have it no other way. There's still arousal, however. Hannibal's cock, so far untouched, is half hard from Will simply exploring his body.

Will's tongue pokes out and as it licks a journey up the ragged scar, Hannibal sighs and resists reaching out to Will, for he doesn't wish to impede where Will will deign to move to next. (Even now, he must be patient as Will is his own stray; Hannibal wishes to remain _home_ for him, but Will is, at times, as tempestuous as the ocean that he had thrown them both into.)

Will shuffles behind, his hands following, their touch a comforting pressure along his hips. He hears Will rise up on his knees, leaning forward to rest his forehead along Hannibal's lower back while his right hand creeps toward its destination.

Hannibal inhales sharply when fingertips merely brush the edge of the brand. Even years later, it's quite sensitive. Will's fingers do nothing but rest lightly against the raised edges of it. Hannibal knows the touch is light, but it feels heavy.

"And this one Hannibal?" Will asks, his voice a whisper and competing against the crackle of the fire.

Hannibal's own hand lifts to cover the one point of connection at his waist, palm fitting over the back of Will's. He squeezes. "It says I would endure humiliation and extreme pain for you," Hannibal replies, voice equally somber, yet the tone sure. "It says I would rise above the agony and slay all those who would attempt to hurt you or keep me from you."

And he had. Mason’s men had been slaughtered that evening and Hannibal, with seared and ripped flesh, had carried Will amidst the snow and to safety. The subsequent morning hadn’t ended happily, but Hannibal has no regrets. Will had to go through his own journey, had to _try_ to live life without him. Fate’s red string still pulled them back together.

Will presses in closer and Hannibal can feel Will's erection slide against his leg. Will exhales a shuddering breath gainst his back. Hannibal's thumb strokes along Will's wrist, now equally as aroused as Will.

"Go on," he encourages. They’re not done and he won’t have them stop until the significant scars have been touched, until Will hears what he must hear.

This is their own religious experience, after all.

Will obeys, his hand gliding away from the brand to reach around to Hannibal’s abdomen. Hannibal glances down, watching Will’s index finger graze over the now healed bullet wound.

“Tell me what this one says.”

Hannibal closes his eyes. So clearly he can picture Will in his mind. Will, accepting the offered wine, looking calm and resolute and fierce. Hannibal hadn’t been more proud of him then. Will’s darkness had been familiar, but still a beautiful thing to behold - a glorious piece of art in its own way. More than that, it had been Will aware and (mostly) accepting of said darkness.

“This scar says that I would willingly stand in front of glass and take a bullet for you,” Hannibal states.

He had.

Will says nothing, for nothing needs to be voiced. He pulls away and gets to his own feet, Hannibal turning to steady him as he does. They regard each other in the warm light. There’s very little space between them now. Their mutual arousal registers, but it’s not important. It never has been. (Will’s beautiful mind, his heart… Hannibal covets them like a dying man desires to stave off his impending death.)

Will steps closer, his hand reaching out to take one of Hannibal’s wrists. Hannibal is pliant in Will’s grasp, allowing his arm to be turned so that the scar along his wrist is revealed. A scar not directly from Will, but by Will’s hand nonetheless. At the time, Hannibal had been delighted by Will’s desperation and recklessness. Will fighting back, while inconveniencing him, had proven just how resilient and interesting Will could be. It had been the first time Hannibal had truly saw his potential.

Hannibal’s wrist is brought to Will’s face and he noses along the scar, a soft stroke down Matthew Brown’s attempt to end him. Hannibal has to take in a steadying breath this time. Intimacy is still a curious sensation that he is not fully accustomed to. It threatens to overwhelm and consume so easily.

“These scars speak of a man who can be equally ruthless,” Hannibal supplies without needing to be prompted. His eyes close as Will’s mouth rests against his pulse. (That he is alive and thriving with Will _almost_ makes him believe in the divine.) “ _My_ equal. _My_ partner. A man I cherish.”

Stubble scratches against his skin as Will kisses the scar firmly.

The snow continues to come down and Hannibal waits his turn to worship Will’s scars.


End file.
